When all the kiddos were little, a family tradition was born. Bagels on Saturday mornings.
About once a month the Man of the House heads out early, early to fight the crowds and bring home the prize . . . still-warm, mouth-watering, teeth-exercising bagels from the local bagel shop. Everyone gets their favorite:
Man of the House: Salt. Topped with copious amounts of crunchy, Kosher salt. How can this possibly be desireable?
Youngest Daughter: Asiago Cheese. Ripped into little pieces. Cream cheese spread on all the little pieces. Extremely time-consuming. There's a reason babies of the family grow up to think life is all about them. ::sigh::
Youngest Son: Cinnamon Sugar. Sticky. Gooey. Delicious.
Middle Son: Cinnamon Raisin. A classic.
Oldest Son: Jalapeno Cheese. And any other kinds that he can ferret out during the course of the day. Can easily down a half dozen. Burns it off playing basketball and generally keeping his 6'5" teenage body fueled.
Oldest Daughter: None. Gluten-intolerant. Knows she'll pay for any gluten indulgence. Walks away from it. Disciplined . . . tough.
Me: Sun-Dried Tomato/Spinach. Gluten-intolerant. Know I'll pay for any gluten indulgence. Gobble it down spread thickly with cream cheese and a tall glass of orange juice. Pathetically undisciplined . . . horribly weak-willed . . . hopelessly in love with Saturday Bagel Mornings.